The Weight of the World - DISCONTINUED
by Random Riter11
Summary: Revenge? Easy. Taking over New Vegas? Doable. Running it? Work in progress. Post Game, AU Timeline.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Revenge? Easy. Taking over New Vegas? Doable. Running it? Work in progress. Post Game, AU Timeline**

 **WARNINGS:** **Language, Suicide, Depression, Self-Harm, Human Trafficking, Mentions of Rape/Non-Con, PTSD and Other Mental Disorders, Murder, Slavery, Prostitution, Forced Prostitution, Drug-Use and Addiction, Alcoholism, Violence, War Violence, Violence Against Children, Gun Violence, Gore, Mutilation, Torture, etc. Be aware that if it's concurrent with the Fallout Universe, then it's fair game.**

 **A/N: This started as a quick little character study/romance fic, but, as usual, my brain insists on epic length plots, haha. We're going to be here awhile folks. Also, please don't let the excessive angst of this first bit turn you off. Boone isn't in a happy place right now, but I have no intention of writing a mopey story. Plot will happen, characters will evolve, just give them some time to do so.**

* * *

He recognized the woman walking towards the rusted gates that made up part two of Novac's defense. (They'd never been used for that purpose though. Knock on wood, but, so far, nothing had ever made it past him or Vargas.)

It'd been several months since she'd last appeared in the small town. However, it was hard to forget someone who travelled around with a flying robot. Even harder for, someone like him, to forget someone as, armed to the teeth, as her. She'd been pegged as a possible threat last time, even more so now.

The decent weapons of her previous visit had been replaced with two superior rifles. One was colored with desert camouflage, semi-automatic, and packing a long barrel and scope impressive enough to make the sniper in him want to give the whole package a pretty serious test run. The other gun was darker, larger caliber, and probably lever action if he was seeing correctly. It was hardly anything to scoff at either, and even the weathered pistol at her hip looked a bit better than the average stock.

A freeside junkie could do some serious damage packing any of the three. Someone with actual skill would be positively lethal.

He just wasn't sure what part of the spectrum she fell on.

She'd be on his radar either way, for however long she chose to stay. If he remembered correctly, Manny and her had been best buds by the end of her last visit. But, he didn't necessarily trust his former partner's judgement nowadays. If anything, her chumminess with the other sniper only tagged her further in his mind.

Trust.

What a _joke_.

Legion had infiltrated the town before. If she wasn't female and overly flashy for a spy...but no. That was ridiculous. A healthy amount of suspicion versus outright paranoia were different things entirely-

-oh forget it. He'd be keeping an eye on her. It was impossible to trust anyone nowadays. Humanity had lost its right to the benefit of the doubt long ago in his eyes.

He, himself, was a prime example of why they didn't deserve it.

 _Carla-_

He shook his head to dispel that thought. The sniper knew he couldn't let his mind wander _that_ path while on duty. Later. He had a bottle of something strong in his room, and a couple syringes filled with something even stronger. He'd think about it, about _her_ , later.

"Boone."

The ex-soldier whirled around and pointed his rifle at the voice. It was only a flash of clarity and, instant recognition of the other man, that prevented him from pulling the trigger.

 _Fuck_.

Not okay.

Manny's eyes were darting back and forth between Boone's gun and his face. "Easy man. Point that somewhere else."

"Don't sneak up on me," Boone replied, lowering his weapon and turning back to watch the Mojave.

Vargas _probably_ didn't deserve to get shot, but Boone wasn't inclined to think he deserved an apology either. (Beyond that, the twenty-six year old sniper wasn't the type to reveal just how _shaken_ he was nowadays.)

"I didn't-" his former spotter shook his head and stood a little looser, adrenaline fading as a result of _not_ having a gun pointed at him. "Whatever. It's my shift now."

"Is it?" Boone asked, looking at the sky.

The sun was coming up. He hadn't realized it was so late...early. Whatever.

"You alright, man?" Manny said, breaking his musings. "You seem a little out of it."

"Fine," Boone replied.

"Fine?" Manny said.

"Yeah."

"Boone-"

"Look, you gonna get out of my way or what?"

"Sure, yeah man. Go get some sleep, I guess," the other sniper said, making room for him to leave through the door.

Boone exited silently, and quickly made his way out of dinosaur. The woman was entering one of the hotel rooms across the courtyard. She, and her robot, slipped in and disappeared before he could really get a good look at her.

Still, lightly muscled, athletic, on guard. _Moves with experience._

Probably not a junkie.

His internal threat meter went up just a bit.

Damn. Maybe alcohol wasn't the best choice tonight-day, whatever. (Fuck. He really was out of it.) He closed his eyes and allowed himself to lean up against the side of Dinky for just a seco-and back at attention. The man shook his head but stopped as soon as his vision started swaying.

The temptation of alcohol was winning. Couldn't sleep without it most nights. In that case, maybe it was more accurate to say the temptation of his springy mattress was pulling ahead.

He started walking towards his room as he considered his options. Realistically, he recognized that it wasn't healthy to only rest after drinking himself into a drunken stupor and passing out. Even more realistically, he recognized that he wasn't really in the mood for caring about his personal health.

There was always tomorrow, _later_. Maybe he'd get clean. Maybe he'd pick up another batch of chems. His stash was running a bit lower than he liked it to.

Maybe he'd just pull the trigger and disapea-

No.

He wasn't-couldn't-

He didn't have the fucking _right_ to do that. All he could do was _wait._ Lately, there was a charge in the air, a feeling that it was all...going to be over soon.

Something had _changed._ Something was _coming_.

Or, maybe he just really needed a drink. Goddamn, he was starting to sound as crazy as No-Bark.

The sniper scoffed, then slammed his hand down on the door handle to his room. His vision swayed again as he fought to maintain his balance. The handle squeaked and his hands shook, one on the door, and the other in his pockets, searching for his key.

A few seconds of blind groping had the key inserted and the door opened. He fumbled for the lock and leaned against the door once it snapped into place.

His head was pounding _._

He panted unsteadily and looked around the room, which was the same as ever. Bottles of liquor, old food, dusty sheets and blood stained floors, a carry over from that one time-

And his bed. Cheap, uncomfortable, blue sheets and flat pillows.

Alcohol won.

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 **A/N: Alright, so just to get some housekeeping out of the way, for those of you who are interested - This story is POST the events of the Hoover Dam battle. However, all other questlines are following an AU timeline. They will be used and ignored as it's convenient to the plot. In general, I figure that the Courier would have been more concerned with stopping/winning the looming war, rather than finding talent for the Tops, helping out the King, stopping people's cattle from being stolen, recruiting random companions, etc., and have a drafted a world/plot/timeline that reflects that.**

 **As far as updates go, as things stand, this is a 'stretching my abilities as a writer' side project. I'm not expecting a ton of traffic, especially considering how old New Vegas is getting. So, I'm writing this entirely for personal enjoyment and self-growth. Because of that, updates are on a purely, 'as I feel like it' schedule. However, 'The Weight of the World' is fully outlined/planned out, so I definitely intend to stick with it. In addition to that, if it ends up being more popular than I'm expecting it to be, I'm not at all opposed to moving it up on the priority list, haha.**

 **Also, this chapter is really more of a prologue, rather than Chapter 1. Future chapters should be longer.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading! This writing style is quite a bit outside of my comfort zone, so I'm very interested in hearing what you think. Feel free to leave a review on your way out.**


	2. Chapter 2

Whiskey ensured dreamless sleep and unpleasant awakenings.

The sniper leaned over his toilet as he purged the cause of his hangover. It only took a few heaves for the retching to stop, and he coughed once or twice as he finished, traces of stringy, yellow bile, falling from his mouth in time with the noise.

He released a few deep breaths and stood up. A quick press of the toilet's lever flooded it with irradiated water and he rinsed his mouth out with a bottle of slightly purer stuff. He spat into the sink and pointedly avoided looking at the mirror above it.

He didn't need to stare at his reflection to know that he looked tired, ( _was_ tired). Dark rings around his eyes and a waxy, sallow complexion had become something of a default when it came to his appearance. However, he also knew, from experience, that it probably wasn't anything a pair of sunglasses and bad lighting couldn't hide. Working the night shift had its benefits. It was one of the easiest ways to ignore the fact that he looked like shit most of time.

He splashed some more water on his face and turned away from the vanity. Feeling slightly more human after he'd finished his morning ablutions, he left the bathroom and walked into the main room. Mechanical movements pulled on a dirtied, white shirt, gray pants, dark boots, and a leather belt. A little more thought went into the sunglasses and even more went into his, ever-present, red beret.

" _Orders are orders. Shoot to kill."_

" _Who doesn't love a man in uniform, darling?"_

" _Fucking NCR bastard! My children-"_

Damnit.

He shoved the hat on his head and ignored the whispers in the back of his mind. Carla, Bitter Springs, they never went completely silent. But, he was experienced enough with self-flagellation nowadays to keep them muted in the background, _away_ from the job.

...the job he should have already started. He picked his rifle up from its place against the wall and walked into the dinosaur.

Manny and him exchanged glances, not words, as they swapped out, which was entirely fine by him. (Even the glances didn't feel strictly necessary.)

The other sniper was obviously upset, and slammed the door after he passed through it.

Boone ignored him, choosing, instead, to look at the moon shining overhead.

It was that high in the sky already? He must have kept the other man on shift an extra couple of hours.

...oh well.

...he didn't want to think about it...or really about anything, if he was being completely honest.

...

An hour passed, and Boone's lips tightened as a particularly violent throb reverberated throughout his head. He clenched his gun, hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and stared defiantly at the desert.

Between hangovers and insomnia, pounding migraines were becoming something of a regular occurrence. But, he wasn't going to let that stop him from popping off any-

"Oh, hello."

Legion! He spun around and pulled the trigger.

The _woman!_ dove to the ground. A sharp _**crack**_ followed, and an explosion of dust and debris rained down on her, as the plaster holding the dinosaur together split under the force of the bullet.

"Oh, _fuck_!" Boone said, losing his grip on the gun and dropping it. "Are you-?!" He almost didn't want to know. "Goddammit, don't sneak up on me!"

"Right," the woman said, with a wide grin, from where she was sprawled out on the floor. "I'll keep that in mind."

She (The woman who travelled with the robot, he realized.) stood up, sending several pieces of the destroyed wall off of her, and on to the ground. She reached for his fallen weapon as she straightened up.

"You're not Manny," she said, as she held his gun out to him with one hand, and brushed dust off of her jacket with the other. (And she was still... _smiling_?)

Boone reached for the gun, headache and fatigue completely gone as adrenaline coursed through his system. He was focused, alert, _wired_. His hands were steady, and everything shone with sharp and, entirely familiar, clarity.

His ability to slip into 'combat-ready' had been a benefit on the battlefield but, now all he wanted to do was be sick. (A _civilian_! A _woman!)_ The fact that, instead, he felt better then he had in months was **disgusting** \- _disturbing_ even.

"It's nighttime," she said, abruptly pulling him out of his thoughts. She glanced at the moon, (shocking that she'd take her eyes off someone who'd just shot at her) as if she'd only just noticed how late it was. "He works during the day, doesn't he? I didn't realize I'd slept that long."

She turned her smile towards him. "So, you must be...Boone, right? We didn't meet last time I was here," the woman held her hand out to shake.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Boone hissed, shocked, confused, _angry._

He'd almost _killed_ her! And her response was-?

She lowered her hand and laughed. "Right, I get it. You're not the friendly type."

"I'm not here to make friends," Boone said, instinctively defending himself from a barb he'd heard a lot in the past few months.

"No," she said. Her eyes sharpened and turned calculating, but her grin remained firmly in place. "You're not. But, neither am I, to be perfectly honest," smile wider than ever, eyes back to their original friendliness. (He wasn't entirely sure what she'd been looking for, or what she had found. But, he also didn't really care.) "Doesn't mean we can't be cordial though."

"I think you should leave," Boone replied, still angry. Mostly at himself, but there was a part of him that was (irrationally) upset at her too. Did she have any sort of self-preservation? Or was she just plain stupid? She had to realize that he _could have murdered_ -

Either way, he didn't want to have anything else to do with her, now that he knew she was okay.

"Fair enough," she said. She turned around and placed her hand on the doorknob, paused. "Hey, listen, you pulled up at the last second."

"What?" Boone replied, too frazzled to try and figure out what she was rambling about.

"You would have missed me, even if I hadn't hit the floor," she mimed a gun, shooting over her head.

Boone's eyes widened behind his sunglasses.

"You've got quick instincts," she smirked. "Managed to figure out that I was, and wasn't, a threat in a few seconds. Not too shabby. Just keep your gun aimed at Raiders and whatever's left of those _Legion bastards_ , instead of me," she laughed again. "Anyways, I'll see you around. And, don't beat yourself up too much. We both know it was an accident. Everyone has bad days."

She opened the door.

... _Legion_...

"Wait!" Boone said.

She paused mid-step and turned to look at him.

He stared back at her searchingly.

She was short, and petite. Now that he was paying attention, he realized that the guns, holstered to her back, were almost comically disproportionate to her. The two of them were close to dragging on the floor, near her feet, because of how tall they were in relation to the rest of her small frame. Her tan duster did a little bit to hide how narrow her shoulders were, and the combat boots made her feet look larger then they probably were, however, up close, he realized the pale woman was _tiny_ , with small hands, a slim waist, and a height that only put her, at most, a head _below_ his own.

There were other less important details, her eyes were blue, her light blond hair was done up in a messy bun, and he'd put her age anywhere from 20-25, however he barely registered (cared about) any of that. It was the confidence in the way she carried herself, and the noticeable glint of intelligence in her eyes that interested him.

And...Legion _bastards._

For the first time since she'd come up to the nest, something she said actually made sense.

"Done checking me out yet?" she asked, as he continued to silently stare at her.

"I wasn't-"

"I know," she said. "I'm not stupid. But, regardless, I doubt you want to spend the rest of your evening staring at me," the woman looked back at him expectantly.

Boone let out a solitary huff, half-chuckle, of air. "Right, I guess not," he continued. "You're not from around here."

"Is that a total non-sequitur? Yes. Is it the truth? Also yes," she said.

He ignored the sarcasm. "In that case, maybe we can be ' _cordial'._ "

"I'll guess then that you don't get along with your fellow 'Novacians' then," she said.

"No, I don't," Boone replied. "No one in this town looks me straight in the eye anymore."

The woman closed the door, leaned against it, and crossed her arms. "I'm listening."

He wasn't sure why she was bothering. He wouldn't give a psycho who'd blindly shot at him the time of day. But, he shoved personal confusion away, for the sake of finding the walking corpse who'd stolen Carla from him.

"Almost a year ago, my wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers."

"A year?" she paused. "That's...look, I don't mean to sound callous-"

"-I don't need a rescue mission," Boone cut her off, already knowing where that line was going. "My wife is dead. I want the son of a bitch who sold her."

"Sold her? Are you sure?"

"Fuck yes, I'm sure. Those bastards snuck into our home, while I was on shift. They knew where to go, when to go, and how. They didn't just 'get lucky'. Someone in this town tipped them off," his eyes narrowed. "The only thing I care about now is finding out who did it and _**ending**_ them. I," he paused. "Everyone knows I'm suspicious. No one will even talk to me about it. But, you're an outsider. You could do some real investigating-"

The woman's expression was conflicted. "I-"

"I have some caps saved up. I'm not asking you to do this just out of the 'goodness of your heart'-"

She held her hand up. "No, stop right there," she let out a loud sigh and stopped leaning against the door, choosing, instead, to stand up straight, with her arms still crossed. "I get it," she made direct eye contact with him, expression serious. "I _really_ get it. So, I _know_ you don't want to hear this, but, trust me, revenge. Will. Not. Help. You."

Boone's expression immediately turned hostile. "You're right, I don't-"

"-No, listen to me. I got screwed over pretty badly several months ago, and I spent days, _weeks_ , tracking down the SoB who did it. And, you know what, I _got_ him. And, you know what else? Now I'm even more screwed. Hell, I ended up letting him go, because killing him wasn't even worth it, once everything was said and done. But, I'm still dealing with the fallout of everything that went down. Revenge...," she paused. "Well, it isn't something anyone should waste their time on. It doesn't help, and you'll just end up fucking yourself over even more."

Boone scoffed. "Drop the pacifistic bullshit. If you don't want to get involved, that's fine. You know where the door is."

"Pacifistic?" she asked, with an ironic grin. "Hardly. Just pragmatic. I don't have enough time to chase down every moron who messes with me."

"Well, that's the only thing I've got time for. So, if you're not going to help, _beat it_ ," Boone said, glaring harshly.

The woman made eye contact for a no more than a second, observing, just for a moment, how serious he was, before sighing again. "It'd be hypocritical of me to do too much to talk you out of it," she shrugged. "It's your life. So, good luck I guess," she swiveled towards the door. "I'll see you around."

"I doubt it," Boone said, coldly.

She laughed, obviously not taking his frosty tone too personally, and headed down the stairs.

"Damn," Boone muttered, as the door slammed shut.

That was best chance he'd had in months. Three guns, a bounty hunter's coat, and _morals_.

Fuckin' typical. The Universe never made things easy. He should have known not to get his hopes up from the start.

It was a fight to keep his fingers from shaking, and the sniper's head was pounding again.

His couple minute reprieve was obviously up, now that there wasn't anyone to shoot.

* * *

 **A/N: Writing from Boone's perspective is difficult for me. I don't consider myself a particularly wordy author, but I'm definitely not as taciturn as Boone. Writing this is a constant exercise in pruning back. Boone sees a desert, I want to describe it. However, realistically, I know he doesn't give a crap about what it looks like, so I can't, haha. It's definitely different, although ultimately interesting to see how much of anything I can fit in while still (hopefully) staying in-character.**

 **On another note, the Courier's here now, for reasons unknown. Unlike Boone, and the plethora of other companions she'll pick up as time goes by, we won't ever be hearing explicitly from her perspective. So, have fun trying to figure out what makes her tick. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a review on your way out.**

 **(And big shout out to FalloutGuy1986 for looking over this chapter for me.)**


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